The End of Things
by Elizabeth Arian
Summary: Holmes and Watson remember the old days...
1. Prologue

**The End of Things.**

_**Prologue**_

Holmes looked up from the paper he was studying and glanced across at Watson, he was fast asleep in his chair and Holmes smiled – almost mockingly. They were getting old, and Watson more so than himself, was feeling it. The First World War was over and Holmes had lived in Sussex for nearly three years, there were times he missed London but he pushed these feelings – as he did with all his emotions – firmly to the back of his mind. He stood and walked to the mirror at the opposite side of the room, the paper still hanging loosely in his long fingers and he stares at himself.

He has grown old, although he does not look it, he is sixty five and he feels younger, he has come to terms with everything he is and he is – for all intents and purposes – a contented man. He senses a movement behind him and whirls round,

"What are you doing?" Watson's sleepy voice seeps into Holmes' consciousness and he smiles at the man who has been his companion for more years than he cares to think about.

"Contemplating the cruel walk of time Watson."

Watson gave a small laugh,

"That's incredibly vain of you Holmes."

"It is not vanity Watson, it is…curiosity."

"I will never understand you Holmes."

Holmes smiled as he turned back to the mirror, knowing that Watson was the only man who would ever truly understand him.

"Tea Holmes?"

"Mm? Oh yes, thank you Watson."

Holmes went back to the paper he had been studying, leaving his reflection to forever wonder after him. Seating himself, he could feel his bones throb against the movement and cursed the onset of old age, he needed something to do, something to engage his tired body and mind.

"When do you leave Watson?"

"I can stay as long as you need me."

"I would have you stay indefinitely old fellow but I don't think Mrs. Watson would thank me."

Watson smiled as he handed Holmes his tea.

"Perhaps not, I will leave at the weekend."

Holmes tried not to flinch at the words, that gave him three days. Not long enough…..

"Very well."

Watson sat down with a groan.

"Are you alright?"

"Perfectly, do stop fussing Holmes."

Holmes smiled at the reverse in character's that was becoming so frequent these days. The old monotony of the days before the war was slowly returning and the horrors that they had both witnessed were slowly fading into blurry grey images, locked away never to be returned to. There were times during his dreams that Holmes returned to them, times when he screamed aloud and he would wake to find Watson staring over him, holding his shoulders, his eyes full of empathy and understanding. Holmes shifted slightly in his chair; his own weaknesses were not something he liked to dwell on. Watson was the only person he had ever relied upon and even that was done with some hesitation.

"Are you alone after I leave Holmes?"

"Yes, Mrs. Morgan is still away visiting her daughter."

"I do not like to think of you alone up here."

Watson looked around as if fearful of some presence. Holmes smiled at his consternation.

"I am perfectly fine here Watson, I have lived my life alone, this place suits my moods."

"It is your moods I worry about." Watson replied, still glancing around the ever darkening sitting room. Holmes stood and lit a lamp above his friend's head, as always responding to his thoughts rather than his words.

"I am past all that."

"Are you? I remember how ill you were at the end of the war."

"We were none of us at our best Watson."

"No, but you seemed to take it the worst. I have never seen you cry until that day Holmes."

Holmes cleared his throat and shifted again in his chair, his eyes firmly fixed on the paper in his hands.

"And you never will again."

"It is nothing to be ashamed of Holmes."

"I am not ashamed."

Watson smiled; Holmes was the most stubborn man he had ever known.

The three days passed quickly. They almost fell into the old rhythm of things, Holmes became used to being greeted by Watson every morning, and Watson became used to Holmes' eccentricities again after so long apart. But it could not last. On Saturday morning Holmes had risen early, eager to be awake and savour every last moment of the life he knew was leaving him. Watson was his life, he had known no other. He had no other friends; he had merely acquaintances that were more attracted to his reputation than to him. No, Watson was the only man that Holmes would ever completely trust. Again he walked to the mirror and gazed at himself, his black hair was now greying at the sides, his face was as white as ever but his eyes had changed, they no longer held the cynicism and defence of his youth, they were wise almost, open and understanding, tinged with the glow of a lifetime's unshed tears. He heard movement and the soft sound of Watson's laughter and he turned with a smile.

"You are getting vainer with age Holmes."

Holmes smiled; he saw no value in enlightening Watson of his morbid thoughts.

"Perhaps."

Watson seated himself at the table and began to eat the breakfast Holmes had prepared, Holmes watched him with sadness. Watson looked up,

"Are you not eating?"

"I am not hungry."

Watson shrugged; he leaned back and opened the morning paper. Holmes sat opposite him.

"What time are you leaving?"

"I take the one o'clock train." Watson replied between munches of toast.

"That's a little early."

Watson was about to answer when they were interrupted by a sharp ringing. Holmes grunted.

"Infernal machine."

He walked over and picked up the receiver, holding it to his ear; he began to speak in that stunted tone that comes with a telephone conversation.

"I'm afraid I can't Mr. Stevens, at least not today…no of course not but….well yes, I do understand…very well I will try and see you later….yes…..thank you Mr. Stevens…goodbye."

Watson smiled as Holmes all but threw the receiver down and stalked back over to the table.

"Who was that?"

"A client. I do believe Watson that the telephone was invented to torment me."

"Torment you?"

"Yes, it enables any client to contact me at any time of the day or night and they expect me to drop everything and run to their aid!"

"You have done that in the past."

"Yes in the past, when the situation called for it, but honestly Watson all I seem to get these days are petty little crimes that the official police would soon tire of."

"I am sorry Holmes."

Holmes sighed and waved a hand in an imperious gesture that Watson simply smiled at, his attempt at sarcasm immediately rebuffed.

"Yes well you have a life to return to, a wife, children, while I am forced to remain here and deal with lost dogs and senile old men."

Watson put down his paper and looked at his friend, age had treated him kindly but there was something about the eyes that betrayed his emotions, something that had not been present when they had first met.

"Do you wish me to stay?"

Holmes sighed,

"Yes I wish it but I will not ask it, you have a family and they have been without you enough." Holmes bestowed his friend with a genuine smile.

Watson nodded,

"Yes I suppose they have. Come back with me?"

Holmes shook his head.

"No, thank you, the domestic scene is not for me."

"You have never met my children Holmes."

For a brief moment something like guilt passed through Holmes' eyes but was then gone.

"No I have not, perhaps it is better that way, after all did I not destroy their father's life?"

"No, you enriched their father's life. You have made me who I am Holmes."

Holmes smiled; reaching across the table he took his friend's hand in his own and gripped it.

"And you have saved me Watson; I would have been dead a long time ago were it not for you."

"Oh I don't believe that Holmes there isn't a man alive that could defeat you."

"Your confidence in me does you credit Watson but I fear I would have been defeated by my own demons were you not there to pull me out."

Watson held Holmes' hand for a moment and smiled, he was quite overcome with emotion but Holmes had seen him cry once and that was more than enough, he swore he would never do it again so he blinked back the tears.

"I could take a later train," Watson suggested releasing Holmes' hand, "I feel like reminiscing."

Holmes raised an eyebrow at his friend.

"Reminiscing? About what exactly."

"Us, our life together. I think we are both aware that when I leave here it may well be for the last time."

Holmes nodded and crossed his legs.

"Very well," he added with a smile, "Where would you like to begin?"

* * *

_A brand new story, with a twist! This is just a taster which I'm hoping will turn into something longer, that is if people like it and wish to read more! I will keep updating my other story for those that are following it – and I'm very grateful if you are! – but thoughts about this one would be gratefully received and we'll see where Holmes and Watson's reminisces take us!_


	2. The Case of the Travelling Circus

**The Case of the Travelling Circus.**

"_**Do you remember the tale of the travelling circus Holmes?"**_

"_**A strange place to start Watson. That case was, I recall, rather late in my career."**_

"_**Yes, but one of your more interesting and Lestrade features quite heavily in it – or would you rather forget the good inspector."**_

"_**I doubt he would let me even if I wished it Watson."**_

_**I smiled and opened my notebook….**_

It was a hot, sticky day in September and my friend Sherlock Holmes was lazing in his shirt cuffs on the sofa of our Baker Street rooms with his eyes closed and to the casual observer appeared quite fast asleep. He was in fact, listening to the narrative of one Mr. Charles Hutchins, an acrobat from a travelling circus who had come to consult Holmes over a most puzzling and macabre matter.

As he finished his remarkable story he looked almost pleadingly to myself. I shrugged my shoulders and smiled, Holmes would reply when he was ready and not before. After a few minutes Holmes straightened himself with a sigh.

"Well yours is a most interesting narrative Mr. Hutchins."

"Do you think you can help me Mr. Holmes?" The poor man asked, turning his hat around in his long nervous fingers, his athletic body poised on the edge of his seat.

"I am rather busy just now but I dare say I can find time for your little problem."

"It may seem little to you Mr. Holmes but it is monstrous to me."

My friend shot the man a quick smile as he rose to his feet,

"Indeed. Well Mr. Hutchins leave the matter with me and I will contact you as soon as I am able."

Mr. Hutchins rose to his feet and shook my friend's outstretched hand.

"Very well Mr. Holmes, all I wish is justice for Beth. Thank you for your time," he turned to the door which I was holding open, "Thank you Doctor Watson, goodbye gentlemen."

Holmes waved his hand as he resumed his lethargic position on the settee. As I shut the door behind the departing acrobat's figure I turned to him.

"Well, will you look into it?" I asked, taking a seat by the window for it was stiflingly hot in our little sitting room.

"Certainly I will," he replied, "I do not lie Watson, especially not to clients, I will give it some of my time but it seems rather a simple matter."

He once more closed his eyes.

"Simple?" I exclaimed, "I'm afraid I agree with Mr. Hutchins, it seems perfectly monstrous."

Holmes groaned,

"Ever the romantic Watson, a woman is involved and you cannot think straight."

"A woman died Holmes," I remonstrated, "Mr. Hutchins fiancée to be precise, I think even you owe him more sympathy than that."

"Yes, well that is as maybe, he did know she was going to die Watson."

"Yes, and sometimes that is worse." I said in a quiet voice, remembering my lost Mary.

I heard Holmes shift his position although I was not looking at him; I could sense the guilt on his face.

"I am sorry Watson, I did not think."

I waved away his apology; Holmes could reduce one to tears with a single word

when he so chose

"Anyway it is not the fact she died it is the terrible circumstances in which she died! Surely that must move you?" I stared at him; I too was sometimes shocked by his inhuman qualities. Holmes sighed and ran a hand through his matted hair.

"Very well, I am swayed as ever, by your more human sensibilities." He passed me and gripped my shoulder before disappearing into his bedroom. I watched him go, the case, however it appeared to Holmes, to myself, was both tragic and puzzling. Mr. Hutchins had consulted Holmes over the death of his fiancée, a woman who, I should mention was suffering from rather advanced consumption and was facing death, a fact which both her and Mr. Hutchins accepted, what they were not prepared for however, was what occurred later.

Mr. Hutchins, as I have mentioned was an acrobat with the travelling circus that was currently finishing a nationwide tour here in London, Mr. Hutchins was preparing to perform as he did every night and was leaving his fiancée, a Miss. Beth Carmichael, in his caravan to rest and await his return, as she did after every performance. This night Miss. Carmichael was asleep and Mr. Hutchins, being loathe to wake her, slipped out without saying goodbye. He performed his routine and made his way back to his trailer. All was silence and darkness, Mr. Hutchins gently pushed open the door to find a most horrific scene, Miss. Carmichael was spread on the bed covered in blood, she had been shot at close range, on her chest was a note that read;

_It is of little use preventing the inevitable._

Mr. Hutchins, obviously, was in a state of shock and roused his fellow performers, all could account for their whereabouts, and so Mr. Hutchins, having received no joy from any official investigation into his fiancées death, had consulted Holmes as a matter of last resort. While I felt for Mr. Hutchins, I too agreed with Holmes. It did seem a relatively simple case, a friend or relative of Miss. Carmichael could not bear her pain and so relieved her of it – even if their method was somewhat crude, mercy killings were not unusual. However, there was something that piqued Holmes' interest for within the hour he was dressed and suggested we take a trip to the travelling circus to see what we could discover for ourselves. We arrived at the circus to find Lestrade patrolling the scene; Holmes jumped from the cab and greeted him.

"Doing your own patrolling Lestrade?" Holmes said with a smile, "How the mighty have fallen."

"Very funny Mr. Holmes," Lestrade replied, with a snarl, "All my officers are busy with other matters, we are rather short staffed – besides there have been developments."

"Indeed? Pray enlighten us." Holmes smiled and leaned casually on his walking stick. Lestrade frowned.

"Another lady was found dead not more than half an hour ago. I'm surprised you have not heard Mr. Holmes, is that not why you are here?"

"Unfortunately not Lestrade, I am here on behalf of the late Miss. Carmichael's fiancée, Mr. Charles Hutchins."

"Oh that, we took that to be a mercy killing, no great intrigue, we already have the man that did it."

Holmes was frowning at the curious smile playing over Lestrade's face.

"Yes, Mr. Charles Hutchins, your…client."

The word rolled off his tongue like acid. Holmes groaned,

"Oh Lestrade, will you never cease jumping to conclusions?"

"I did not jump to anything Mr. Holmes, the evidence all points to him. Who else could have done it?"

"Why a myriad of people my dear Lestrade! You simply cannot pin it on the one you think most likely!"

I had to admire Holmes' nerve, not one hour ago; he was making merry over the simplicity of the case and now here he was defending Mr. Hutchins against a charge of murder.

"Where is the unfortunate Mr. Hutchins?"

"Why he's here, we arrested him not half an hour ago."

"Must have been when he returned from consulting you Holmes." I ventured.

Holmes nodded to me.

"Take me to him."

Lestrade shrugged,

"Very well, follow me."

By this point there had been an influx of officers who were now guarding the scene like a pack of dogs. We followed Lestrade past the row of colourful trailers until we came to a rather dour looking one with an officer standing guard outside the door.

"He's in there," Lestrade touched Holmes' sleeve as he ascended the steps, "make it quick mind, we got another murder here to get the bottom of."

"We?" Holmes repeated, glaring down at the man.

"Well yes, if you'd be so good Mr. Holmes." Lestrade smiled sweetly at him. Holmes sighed,

"Naturally Lestrade."

Brushing off the inspector's restraining hand Holmes entered the dimly lit caravan, with myself following close behind. What we found was a sour faced and rather forlorn looking Mr. Hutchins.

_Our first reminiscence! A tale of forlorn acrobats and wronged lovers, keep reading to discover if Lestrade wins the day or loses out to our Mr. Holmes!_

_Reviews always appreciated._


	3. The Girl in the Tent

**Chapter Three. The Girl in the Tent.**

Hutchins looked up as we entered and nearly fell of his seat in surprise.

"Mr. Holmes!" he exclaimed rising to his feet, but not getting very far before Lestrade pushed him back down, "Oh I knew you would come, they said you would not but I knew you would! I've been telling them you would."

Hutchins was getting rather agitated and Lestrade's hand upon his shoulder was, in my opinion, becoming rather too restraining. I placed a hand on Lestrade's arm and waved him away, he did so with a grunt.

"Mr. Hutchins calm yourself." Holmes' soothing voice interrupted the scene and seemed to calm the man, who settled in his seat, his eyes fixed on my friend. "I am here more out of chance I had no idea you had been arrested."

"No idea? But then…?"

"We were pursuing the investigation as I promised you, it was only when we arrived and ran into the Inspector here that I knew anything about your predicament."

Hutchins was becoming agitated again and was swivelling around in his chair like a lunatic. Holmes placed a strong hand on the man's arm and he immediately stopped.

"But I am here to help you Mr. Hutchins and I promise you I will."

Holmes smiled gently at the man who returned it before dropping his eyes to the floor.

"I do not know what to do Mr. Holmes, they mean to hang me." Hutchins glanced at Lestrade stonily who glared back. Holmes glared at them both.

"Nobody is going to hang you just yet, not until I say so anyway."

Lestrade muttered something under his breath but a severe look from Holmes silenced him.

"First we must establish what happened. Do you think you can tell me?"

I would have expected Holmes to lose his temper with this rather pathetic figure of a man, but to my surprise he was being as gentle with Hutchins as he would be with any woman. I fear Lestrade shared my surprise for the small smiles he was constantly throwing in my companion's direction. Holmes ignored him and continued to focus his attention on Hutchins.

"This other lady that has been found dead? Do you know who she is?"

Hutchins sniffed and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve.

"Yes I know her, she was one of the trainers, she put together our routines sometimes, her name was Elise. Young I think, about mid-20s other than that I don't know anything about her."

"She wasn't a regular at the circus?"

"No, like I said she used to help us with our routines sometimes but no sir she wasn't here regular."

"When was she last here?"

"She was here a few days ago sir helping me with a new routine."

"Was she acquainted with your fiancée Mr. Hutchins?"

"I don't believe so, do you think their deaths may be connected Mr. Holmes."

"I think nothing yet."

Holmes was biting on a finger nail and staring at a point on the far wall. Lestrade coughed.

"Well if that will be all Mr. Holmes, we need to move Mr. Hutchins here down to the station."

"What? Oh yes Lestrade that is all for now."

"You're not going to let them take me away Mr. Holmes?!"

Hutchins panic stricken voice awoke Holmes from the reverie he had slipped into.

"I'm afraid there is nothing I can do Mr. Hutchins, but do not worry you will not be there for long."

Lestrade shot Holmes a glance that was full of ice, I sighed the war between these two I feared would never end.

Lestrade pushed poor Hutchins through the doors and down the steps of the precarious caravan we were in. When we heard their footsteps march away Holmes suddenly sprang up at me,

"Come Watson while he's gone."

I followed him out of the caravan and across the field to where a rather dour looking police constable was standing.

"Is the body in there?" Holmes asked in the most authoritative voice he possessed.

"Yes guv, but you can't go in, orders sir."

"Yes I quite understand," seeing that authority was going to get him nowhere Holmes had now turned on the charm, I stood back and watched with amazement as my friend worked, "I do have Inspector Lestrade's full co-operation, do I not Watson?"

Holmes shouted back at me over his shoulder all the time smiling at the man in front of him.

"Watson?" the man muttered, daylight was beginning to glimmer, "Mr. Holmes sir! Why I didn't recognise you!"

"No people seldom do," Holmes smiled, "May I?"

"Certainly sir, take as long as you need."

"Thank you." Holmes winked at me over his shoulder as I followed him past the still smiling policeman.

"I see your not averse to using your fame to your own advantage Holmes." I said as we entered a dimly lit canvas tent.

"Is anybody?" he asked with a smile, "This must be the unfortunate Elise."

As we approached the body a chill swept over me, I had seen death many times in its various forms and never once had I felt such a chill as I did at that moment. I shivered.

"Is something wrong Watson?" Holmes asked, the sheet covering the body held in mid-air.

"No, no carry on." I shook the feeling away and watched as Holmes uncovered the body. Lying quite serene was a girl of about 25 a slight smile on her white lips, golden hair lying in curls around her shoulders. Holmes hissed through his teeth.

"A beautiful girl Watson."

"Yes." I said, I could not shake the feeling that I had seen her somewhere before. Holmes was examining the mark on her neck, it was red and blotched. She had been strangled. He sighed.

"There is very little to be gained here Watson ,the body has been cleaned. Shall we go?"

he led the way out into the open air and I breathed in it gratefully, my head felt light. I felt Holmes' hand on my arm.

"Watson are you alright?"

And then I remember falling and hitting the ground, I remember Holmes' voice and I remember being carried and then I remember….nothing.

* * *

_Eek I'm so cruel to poor Watson…an update finally an update! I'll try to be more regular with it I promise you all put me to shame! _

_Reviews always welcome! _


	4. Back to Baker Street

_Right here goes, next chapter. I know my grammar is shocking and I would read these things through but I don't have time! So many thanks to those that pointed out my shocking grammar and many thanks for reviewing. This may be the last update for a while as I go back to work tomorrow which means a very busy two weeks ahead, but I will try to update sometime before Feb! Oh and Happy New Year!_

**Chapter Four. Back at Baker Street.**

It was a strange few hours after that. They removed me to a hospital where I came round to find Holmes gazing anxiously into my face, he insisted on my returning to Baker Street once he had assured himself that I was not dying. By the time we got back my head was spinning with the thousand questions I had bouncing around in my mind, anxious to be answered. Holmes asked me what I had felt, how close had I been to the body? Did I notice any strange smells? I smiled at his agitation, he was evidently not thinking straight as he grasped my hand a number of times and mumbled something. I was sure he was checking if I were still alive.

Lestrade called a few hours later to assure himself that I was not dying as Holmes' report to the yard had been somewhat dramatic.

"Have you found anything?" Holmes demanded of him once he had seated himself.

"Well, Mr. Holmes we have. We found this in the girl's hair."

Lestrade pulled from his pocket a small bag, in it was a smaller packet.

"What is it?" I asked staring at the strange object.

"Some sort of drug we think."

"You think?!"

Holmes voice caused us both to jump.

"Why did no-one discover this?" He demanded taking it from Lestrade's hand.

"We were preoccupied with catching the girl's murderer. Besides you did not discover it either Mr. Holmes."

"I was preoccupied with my best friend collapsing at my feet."

I smiled. He was gazing intently at it.

"Why did it only affect Watson?"

We assumed it was a rhetorical question so remained quiet.

"Watson?" Holmes suddenly asked, "Did you suffer from any chest infections when you were younger?"

"Yes I had scarlet fever when I was very young, it weakened my lungs. Why do you ask?"

"Because you may have been more suspecibtle than most to the fumes this is giving off."

"Fumes?" Lestrade said, standing and walking over to Holmes who held the package out on his hand for Lestrade to smell. He jumped back with a look of disgust on his face.

"Surely someone would have smelled that."

"Not with a dead body in the vincinity, it was a warm day and the body had been lying out for a good few hours before we arrived, why should one more smell cause any concern?"

Lestrade nodded.

"Do you think it was what killed her?" I asked.

"Perhaps, I need time. Lestrade come back in a few hours." He turned his back on the both of us and Lestrade turned to me with a smile.

"I take it that is my queue to leave. Goodbye doctor, I am glad you are none the worse for your adventure."

I smiled,

"Thank you Lestrade. Good day to you."

Holmes was lost to me now so I settled down to sleep.

Holmes sat in thought, staring into the fire, the smoke curling around his head like a wreath of demons waiting to pounce. Perhaps that is what he felt, he reminded immobile as I stared at him. I wondered what he was thinking, the case to me seemed baffling, completely bizarre, two dead women, one a lover the other a trapeze artist and the murderer? The link between them, Hutchins. I was not sure if I believed that he had done it, in fact I was practically convinced that he had not. But if not him then who had?

"Watson what are you huffing about?"

"Huffing?I was not doing any such thing."

Holmes laughed gently,

"My apologies. What is the matter then?"

"I was merely thinking about the case and how I do not believe Hutchins had anything to do with either the death of his fiancée or of the other poor girl."

Holmes chewed on the edge of his pipe and tore his eyes away from the fire to glance at me.

"No nor do I."

"You don't?"

Holmes shook his head and returned his eyes to the fire.

"For one thing the lad has little initiative and I am sorry to say little imagination, yes he is fit and quite capable of murder but then so are we all."

"Perhaps." I returned mournfully.

"How are you feeling?" he suddenly asked, staring into my face.

"Fine. Bored and anxious to be out."

Holmes smiled,

"Well, how about a walk?"

"Certainly, where to?"

"The circus. I want to see a performance."


	5. Arguments and Accusations

**Chapter Four. Arguments and Accusations.**

Lestrade appeared at our doorway however before we could leave, much to Holmes' annoyance.

"What?" Holmes asked, his brows drawn and I sensed that during my recuperation something had occurred between them.

"I thought you might like to know that Hutchins has confessed." Lestrade smiled smugly at my friend from the entrance to our flat as Holmes was blocking his entrance.

"What?" Holmes repeated, louder this time.

"He confessed." lestrade stood his ground and drew out each word, his face getting coser to holmes' as he spoke.

"No doubt after a lengthy and involved interrogation by your men Lestrade." Holmes' voice was icy and his eyes never left the Inspector's face,"I want to see him."

"Impossible, he is..."

" I want to see him!" Holmes shouted at the top of his voice, I stood, stunned at his tone, I had never once seen Holmes lose his patience on a case and it unnerved me. Lestrade simply stood, smiling innanely, "You will not get away with this Lestrade, police brutality is unnacceptable."

"The man is scum Holmes, I thought you were on our side, now I know otherwise don't I? I know what the good doctor here don't. That you'll do anything to get one over on me, even stick up for murderers."

Holmes' expression was unreadable, the only sign of any outward emotion was a clenched fist at his side, I really thought Holmes was about to hit him. However, he drew one deep breath and turned to me.

"Watson, stay here, I am going to accompany the Inspector to the station and visit Mr. Hutchins, I will then return and we will see our performance as promised."

I could sense that Lestrade was about to speak but Holmes silenced him with a look. Without a word Lestrade glanced briefly at me then disappeared down the stairs, Holmes unclenched his fist and removed his coat from the stand.

"You cannot pursue this alone." I protested, placing a restraining hand on his arm.

"No Watson," said Holmes, gently removing himself from my grasp and moving his hand to my shoulder in a gesture that commanded obedience, "I have to do this alone. This is between me and Lestrade, you don't have to get involved. I don't want you compromised."

"Comprimised? What has happened between you two?"

"Watson please." His voice sounded as desperate as I had ever heard it. I sighed and nodded, I could not see the sense in his decision to leave me in the dark but I was, by now used to Holmes' ways and let the matter drop. Still, the thought of being left behind was irksome to say the least. I had of course, left Holmes to deal with certain cases on his own in the past, but these were few and far between and I never did so without a slight pang of conscience telling me that my friend needed me.

"What of Mr. Hutchins?" I asked, feeling sorry for the poor soul whom Lestrade had decided was to take the blame for this whole affair.

"You leave Hutchins to me." Holmes replied, putting on his coat, "Now I will leave yo uto the tender care of Mrs Hudson"

He winked at me, tipped his hat in the direction of our landlady who was once more hovering nervously on the landing and disappeared. That was the last I was to see of him for a whole week.

I had been recuperating at Baker Street for three days before Holmes deigned to visit me. He appeared suddenly one Wednesday evening as the clock struck six and I was dozing after a marvellous dinner from Mrs Hudson. Coat, hat and gloves were flung to one side and he flung himself down with a grunt into his chair. It was a good ten minutes before he spoke.

"Damn Lestrade to hell!"

"Something wrong?" I asked, a stupid question I know but I was always fearful of saying the wrong thing when Holmes was in one of his moods.

"He's insisting Hutchins is responsible for the lot, the killing of his fiancée, the murder of Elsie and your poisoning! The man is a clot he should be locked up for offences against common sense!"

Mrs Hudson had popped her head around the door and had quickly retreated when Holmes glared at her.

"Oh I see." I buried my head in my paper.

"Is that it?" He barked. I looked at him from the top of the page.

"Did you want my opinion? I haven't seen hide nor hair of you in a week Holmes."

He sighed and ran hand across his eyes.

"Yes I'm sorry, I have been rather here, there and everywhere of late."

He smiled gently at me.

"How are you?"

"Better, surviving at least. How are you?"

"Frustrated Watson, what seemed a simple case is proving difficult. No matter how hard I try I cannot prevent the path leading directly to Hutchins."

"If that is true why are you fighting so hard to defend him?"

"Because I am not convinced and I will not send a man to the gallows on a feeling. That note is playing on my mind." He paused and gazed into the fire, absently chewing on a thumb nail.

"The note?"

"Yes the one attached to Hutchins' fiancées body when they found her, the one that said _It is of little use preventing the inevitable _why would Hutchins write that? He wouldn't. Someone did, someone close to them both, who knew of their suffering." He sighed again, "I must sleep, I have not slept properly in days. Do you mind very much if I retire Watson?"

"No of course not."

"I think then that we will pursue this investigation at the heart of the matter, what I promised over a week ago – the circus."

"We Holmes?"

"Well yes Watson if you feel well enough. I find I am lost without you."

I smiled.

"Of course Holmes. I am feeling quite myself again – if a little apprehensive of circuses."

Holmes laughed,

"Quite, I have to say I am a little wary of taking you but life goes on does it not? Well goodnight dear fellow."

He almost hopped out of the room and I resumed my paper, but not before shouting.

"Good morning Holmes" to his retreating figure. I heard him laugh as the door to his bedroom closed. It was good to have him back.


	6. What a Performance!

**Chapter Five.**

We did go to the circus. The next evening when we were both suitably recovered, we acquired two tickets and found ourselves surrounded by loud men, even louder women and a gaggle of screaming children. Holmes squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, if the wooden boards we were placed on could be called such. I smiled,

"Having fun yet?" I enquired, Holmes glared at me.

"I have only been to one other circus performance in my life," He murmured, sinking further into his seat and taking out his pipe, "When I was seven years old. Mycroft took me for my birthday at the insistence of my mother who held that the day should be celebrated and despite my fierce protestations, we went. It was disastrous."

I smiled; it was an amusing thought to think of a seven year old Sherlock Holmes protesting against his birthday celebrations. I restrained a laugh. Holmes ignored me and continued to stare at the large expanse in front of us. Before long, the lights dimmed and the rather meagre looking brass band piped up, Holmes groaned. Over the next hour we were presented with an array of acts, ranging from rather miserable looking clowns, to elephants, horses and dogs all doing various tricks. I had to admit I was bored. If I didn't know Holmes better I would have assumed him to have been asleep, he barely moved at my side, his eyelids were almost closed and his breathing was shallow. However, as the band reached a climax and a stout, red faced man appeared in the auditorium,

Holmes suddenly sat up, perfectly alert.

"Ladies and Gentleman!" He announced in a voice loud enough to wake the dead, "And now the event you have all been waiting for! In a death defying routine never seen before on any shore I present, the brilliant, the beautiful," This was greeted by shouts from the men around us, "the supremely talented Miss Virginia Cherub!"

The band were racing now, the music soaring as the lights revealed a high wire, on which we could just see the slender form of a young girl, dressed in a tight costume that frankly made me blush. The shouts around us were deafening, from what I could see she was certainly beautiful, her dark hair piled extravagantly high on her head, make-up enhancing her features rather than making her look cheap and her eyes…her eyes were stunning as she gazed down on us smiling broadly. Holmes whistled quietly as he, along with every other person there, stared at her. The band suddenly stopped and the girl tore her gaze away from the audience to stare at something ahead of her. Gently the music started again, a gentle, lilting rhythm. Slowly she took a step forwards and the tension in the air was incredible, hardly anyone breathed. She balanced beautifully on the thin wire, her one leg raised elegantly in the air behind her. As she righted herself a man swooped downwards from somewhere in the roof and grabbed her outstretched arm, and then it began, the most amazing trapeze show I had ever seen, granted I had not seen many, but these two people were fearless, they soared through the air as though they had wings, she dived and he caught her. They whirled and zoomed around the auditorium as though it were perfectly natural. After what seemed like an eternity, the pair finally landed safely on the floor and bowing dramatically, their performance ended. As the lights went down, the shouts around the auditorium grew ever louder until the noise reached almost fever pitch. The lights dazzled back into brilliance and the young couple bowed again before running off hand in hand. Holmes did not clap or shout or even move. He sat quite still, a small smile paying around his thin lips until eventually the noise subsided and the show ended. As we were leaving Holmes turned to me,

"Well that was interesting." Holmes said the smile still present on his lips. I looked at him suspiciously.

"What did you see that I did not Holmes?" I asked, as we made our way out into the cool evening air. Holmes wagged a finger at me and laughed,

"Ah all in good time Watson," He smiled and reached into his coat for his pipe, lighting it, he gazed about him, "and now I would very much like to meet our intrepid pair of trapeze artists."

He raised his eyebrows at me, pipe still clenched between his teeth and stalked off towards the back of the tent. I had no option but to follow, as we rounded the corner we were greeted with quite a unique site. Half a dozen caravans were scattered across the lawn and each had at least one person, in various states of undress sitting on the steps, some were former clowns, their make-up smudged, others were animal handlers chatting and smoking completely oblivious as we walked past them. Others were rather embarrassing. Young girls, young enough to have been my daughter, in little to no clothes talking and giggling together, they eyed us coyly as we walked past. I suddenly felt rather hot and had to loosen my collar; Holmes of course, acted as though he did not see them. Eventually we came to a statlier looking caravan and Holmes rapped on the door. A laugh was heard from within and the door opened. Holmes wasted no time with pleasantries.

"Mr. Jackson I believe? I am Sherlock Holmes and I am investigating the murder of Miss. Carmichael and Miss Elsie Rose. I need to speak to the two young people you have currently working for you as trapeze artists."

The door opened slightly wider, and the stout, red faced ringmaster we had seen before stared at us.

"You what?" He asked in a thick cockney accent, a voice completely at odds with the one he had used in performance. Holmes sighed.

"Mr. Jackson it is very late and I am a very busy man. I want to see your trapeze artists – now."

Mr Jackson stared at Holmes but made no attempt to move.

"Mr 'Olmes? The 'tective Mr. 'Olmes? The one that came back from the dead?" Holmes' hand gripped his walking stick tighter.

"Yes." The word was short and to the point, I could see Holmes was losing his patience. Mr Jackson let out a huge laugh and threw his arm around my companions shoulders, only I could see how Holmes stiffened as the dishevelled man stood next to him.

"Oh Mr _H_olmes!" Jackson said emphasising the 'H' this time, "How very good that you should come to my circus, you're very welcome sir!" He shouted again and Holmes' disentangled himself from the man's grasp.

"Thank you Mr. Jackson it was a wonderful show. May we please meet those wonderful artists of yours?" Holmes asked sweetly.

"What? Oh yes, yes of course, Maria and Greg, fine couple they are. Brother and sister come all the way from Russia at short notice you know?"

"Really?" Holmes said, his one foot tapping impatiently on the ground.

"Yes, yes, wonderful couple," Jackson repeated, "Wonderful, very talented too. Bad business about Hutchins though, was sorry to lose him I was, good man, good man."

Jackson descended into mumbles and Holmes coughed gently.

"Yes, well you can be assured that I am doing everything I can to help him. Now if you could just?"

"Oh yes yes, this way Mr. 'Olmes."

Holmes rolled his eyes heavenwards and we followed Mr. Jackson to a caravan that was situated a little way behind the others, in which could just be seen the flickering of candlelight. Holmes' eyes narrowed and his step increased. Mr. Jackson knocked on the door, fumbling could be heard and then the door opened and an athletic young man of about 20 stood before us.

"Mr. Jackson," The boy said in a heavy Russian accent, "I thought it was understood that me and my sister were not to be disturbed after a show."

"Yes, yes Greg but this important. This 'eres Mr. 'Olmes, the famous 'tective, he's a fan." Mr Jackson added with a broad smile. In the darkness I could see Holmes eyes roll heavenward once more before he stepped forward.

"Mr…?" Holmes broached his hand outstretched. The boy eyed him suspiciously but took his hand.

"Vasiliev. Gregory Vasiliev."

"Mr. Vasiliev." Holmes smiled, "How wonderful to meet you. That was quite a performance. May we congratulate your sister also.?"

"My sister sleeps after a show." He said, barring our entrance into the caravan.

"Oh what a pity, I should very much have liked to meet her." Holmes pressed.

"I am sorry." Gregory was not to be moved, and he stood immobile in front of Holmes. At his arm there suddenly flashed something and he moved to look behind him, as he did so, the beautiful young girl we had all admired appeared at his elbow. Gregory sighed,

"Maria! You are meant to be sleeping." His tone was gentle, but firm. The girl rested sleepily on his arm.

"I wanted to see what the noise was about." Her voice was musical, and here, draped in a flowing white nightgown, her dark curls bouncing around ivory white shoulders she was breathtaking. I found I could not take my eyes from her. Holmes stared before moving towards the girl. Taking her hand he bowed gallantly over it.

"Miss. Vasiliev, a pleasure." He kissed her hand and she smiled, "I am Sherlock Holmes and I just wanted to tell you how very much I enjoyed your performance."

The girl stiffened and removed her hand from Holmes'.

"Sherlock Holmes?" She asked, her wide eyes growing wider.

"Yes, and this is my friend. Dr. John Watson."

I tipped my hat to the lady; she smiled distantly at me before turning her attention back to Holmes.

"Are you here about the women that were murdered?" She asked and Gregory shushed her.

"No it is alright Mr. Vasiliev. Yes I am but you need not worry, no ill will befall you, not while I am here." He smiled down at her and the smile she sent back seemed to me a little forced.

"Well," Holmes said loudly, stepping away from the couple, "We have said our congratulations and now we must take our leave."

He turned back to Maria and smiled.

"I hope to see much more of you Miss. Vasiliev." This time she did not smile but stared back at him with an intensity that would have made a lesser man than Holmes crumble before her, and even as young as she was, I am sure there were many men who had done so. Holmes smiled at Gregory who stared stonily back and we took our leave, Jackson trailing behind us.

"Ain't they a pair Mr. 'Olmes?" Jackson said as we returned to his caravan.

"Yes, they most certainly are Mr. Jackson how very fortunate for you to have found them."

"Oh I didn't, no Mr. 'Olmes. Mrs. Van Carson, the lady who patronises this circus, she found em, friends of a friends or somethin', don't really understand how she did it but that ain't no surprise, she's a queer one to be sure Mr. 'Olmes but as long as the money keeps rolling in I ain't too fussed how she goes about her business."

Holmes smiled and ran a finger across his lips.

"You wouldn't have an address for Mrs. Van Carson would you? I should very much like to speak to her."

"Course Mr. 'Olmes just a tick."

And he disappeared into his caravan, returning moments later with a card that displayed an address in Kensington.

"That's her Mr. 'Olmes, now if you'll excuse me lots to do before I finally sees me bed. Goodnight gentleman."

With a quick bow he was gone; we secured a carriage and trundled our way back to Baker Street. Holmes refused to discuss any of what we had seen that night and so I left him smoking in his old dressing gown and staring into the dying embers of the fire, dreaming of what I could only imagine. I took to my bed gratefully for it had been a long evening and was haunted of dreams of flying trapeze artists and beautiful Russian eyes.

* * *

_**I'd almost forgotten about this! But now I promise faithfully to update more often. I hope you enjoy and please review, even if you don't! **_


	7. Miss Virginia Cherub

**Chapter Six. Miss Virgina Cherub.**

As I woke the next morning I heard voices from the living room, one I immediately identified as Lestrade.

"Yes but why the stage name Lestrade? Virginia Cherub? She sounds more like a common whore than a talented artist."

"She's in a circus Mr. Holmes, it's not exactly Lady Macbeth is it? I mean she's got to have some sort of draw to her."

"I should have thought one glance at the girl would have been enough."

I smiled and made my entrance, I had not realised that the name Maria Vasiliev had been introduced with was not her own, it had obviously been a long night….

"Ah good morning Watson," Holmes said as I entered, "Coffee?"

"Yes please Holmes that would be most welcome."

I greeted Lestrade before sitting down with the coffee Holmes poured for me.

"I'm sorry Mr. Holmes but I don't see what you're getting at." Lestrade continued, my interruption quickly forgotten.

"I am suggesting Lestrade that you wait for me before scheduling Hutchins' trial!" Holmes seldom raised his voice but when he did I was sure the Queen herself would have stopped to listen.

"I can't wait around for you Mr. Holmes, I'm under pressure to get this case knitted up, people are very jumper about the murder of women you know, especially with that other case not having been solved.." Lestrade trailed off staring at Holmes who waved a hand in impatience.

"yes, yes Lestrade but public nervousness is not my concern, the welfare of my client is and I absolutely forbid you to proceed any further until I have seen Mrs Van Carson and interviewed Miss. Vasiliev alone without her ghastly brother by her side."

Lestrade sighed,

"Very well, but not long mind."

Holmes smiled.

"I shall endeavour to work to your ever increasing deadlines Lestrade."

Lestrade said nothing, ignored the hand Holmes put to him, and did not glance at me before stalking out of our rooms. We heard his shouts to his fellow constables in the street, before the clatter of hooves and then nothing. Holmes sat opposite me, poured himself some more coffee and laughed.

"Poor Lestrade, I do wonder if he feels he is working for me rather than the yard."

"Mmm, and I'm sure the realisation pleases him no end." I sipped the coffee and Holmes smiled at me.

"Yes, still there is something bothering our Lestrade and it is not pressure from above."

"What do you mean?" I asked placing my tea cup on the tray in front of me.

"He is jumpy; I mentioned our visit to the circus and meeting Miss Vasiliev and her brother and their act when the strangest change came over him. He started sweating and ringing his hands together. He said he had seen the act and was very impressed by it but thought Miss Vasiliev rather vulgar and her stage name inappropriate for one so young. He then rattled on for some ten minutes about the virtues of good English names and the danger of foreigners. We were arguing about her name when you walked in Watson."

"Yes I heard, how very strange."

Holmes sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

"My dear Watson everything the dear Inspector does seems to me strange but we will leave him to his erroneous conclusions as we go about our investigations, are you coming?"

Holmes asked standing and putting his coat on.

"Yes of course," I replied following suit. As we made our way to Kensington I could not help feeling that Lestrade's behaviour was far from the normal eccentricities of the man as Holmes thought and that perhaps he should be paying more attention to the Inspector's behaviour…

* * *

_**Just to clear up the 'name' issue that I left hanging in the last chapter...Virginia? Maria? Who knows...read on to find out...**_


	8. Mrs Van Carson of Kensington

**Chapter Seven. Mrs. Van Carson of Kensington.**

Mrs. Van Carson was the perhaps the most perfect example of a 'battleaxe' that it has ever been my misfortune to be introduced to. She was in her late sixties, a rotund woman with white hair and a face that looked as though it hadn't smiled since she was a very young girl, her eyes were pinched and dark, her hand gripped her cane with a strength I would not have thought her capable of and she always wore the expression that she would hit you with it at any moment should you say the wrong thing. Not the least of the reasons why I remained silent and allowed Holmes to work his charm upon the woman. Now Holmes, in spite of many views to the contrary, is a very charming man when it comes to women, he seems to know instinctively what they want and for a man who expresses no interest in any romantic entanglements with any of them I find this extremely frustrating. However in this instance Holmes' charm was falling flat. She refused to be drawn out on the subject of the circus she patronised, which she described as having been done merely 'on a whim' and for the pleasure of her son, Reginald Van Carson, who had decided it wasn't worth the effort and had deserted her for Australia within a week of the damn thing opening. However, the circus brought in a little of what she termed 'pocket money' and so she kept up her patronage of it and provided them with whatever they needed, including it seemed Russian acrobats should the current British supply fall short. She claimed she had no interest whatsoever in any murdered girls, be they her employees or no, that we would have to deal with Mr Jackson directly and if he ever gave out her name and address to anyone again she would have him horsewhipped to within an inch of his life, and to be frank I had not the slightest doubt that she would do it.

Before we left, she asked if the police had been informed of her existence, Holmes replied that he believed they had not but if she so wished it, he would certainly check with Inspector Lestrade, the lead man on the case, to verify. Her whole demeanour changed at the mention of Lestrade's name, she smiled, it seemed an effort but smile she did. Holmes took a step backwards towards the door as if he feared that such an action could only bode ill. The lady whispered Lestrade's name once more and then laughed, not a pleasant laugh but an dark, almost menacing cackle, said she was very glad to hear it and that she had known Lestrade as a boy. She insisted that we were to mention her existence to this particular policeman. Holmes promised that he would and we took our leave. Never have I been so grateful of fresh air and open space. Holmes tapped his cane against his chin.

"Well, well, well." He chuckled silently to himself before hailing a cab. We jumped in and Holmes instructed the driver to take us to the yard. We set of, with Holmes still chuckling beside me.

"Imagine that a woman like that should know of Lestrade! And as a boy! I can hardly imagine Lestrade any younger than he is now." I said, Holmes glanced at me.

"Indeed, and what a woman! Even when I faced Moriarty atop the Reichenbach falls I do not think I felt as completely out of my depth. But yes, her association with Lestrade marks her out as much as it does him. What would a woman of undoubtedly high birth be doing associating with a family of low birth and no offence to Lestrade but he most certainly belongs to the working classes."

"It is strange."

"It is fascinating Watson! I intend to confront him about the matter now." Holmes was smiling in that sardonic fashion of his and I pitied poor Lestrade.

"Now? Do you think that wise?"

"Of course, did I not promise the woman that I would inform Lestrade of her existence? I am merely carrying out the promise I made to a lady. I am a gentleman after all."

I rolled my eyes at him, gentleman indeed! This was torment for his own amusement, while Holmes respected Lestrade and thought him the best of a bad bunch, he was like a school boy in his relationship with the Inspector; back and forth they went in a never ending row. I sighed as we entered the building and were shown into Lestrade's office.

"Mr. Holmes," Lestrade actually smiled as he saw us, "Please take a seat both you're very welcome."

Holmes raised an eyebrow.

"Are you feeling alright Lestrade?"

"Perfectly Mr. Holmes and yourself?"

"Yes, very well thank you." Holmes said in a voice that betrayed his surprise. We both sat down and Lestrade sat beaming opposite us.

"This case Mr. Holmes is quite fascinating, quite the most fascinating thing I've ever worked on. I expect you're here for an update on our progress sir?" Holmes nearly choked as Lestrade said the word, Sir? "The bodies have been released to the families Mr. Holmes so funerals can take place and all that, but as for suspects well I'm afraid we're drawing a blank."

"Are we indeed?" Holmes was staring at the Inspector with intensity, as if he feared that the man seated before him were an imposter and by staring at him he could see through his disguise.

"We are Mr. Holmes I'm sorry to say."

"What of Miss Virginia Cherub and her delightful brother?" Holmes asked. Lestrade smiled again.

"Oh they're perfectly harmless; surprised you should say such a thing Mr. Holmes! Merely substitutes that's all, seen them both this morning, charming people, charming." Lestrade trailed off as he stared at Holmes.

"Yes, aren't they just?" Holmes smiled and crossed his legs, casual in appearance but his eyes betrayed the animal that was ready to pounce on Lestrade at any moment. I could do nothing but watch.

"What of the patron of the circus?"

Lestrade, who had been leaning back on his chair, now replaced all four legs to the ground.

"Patron?" His voice was suddenly quiet. Holmes smiled, he was winning.

"Yes, a Mrs. Van Carson, she has residence in Kensington and is patron of this circus but really has nothing to do with it. Might be worth looking into her history." Holmes regulated his voice so it sounded smooth, almost velvety. Lestrade paled but that was the only visible sign of his discomfort.

"Yes, Mrs. Van Carson. Certainly Mr. Holmes I'll look into it."

"Thank you Lestrade." Holmes smiled again, the only thing missing from that smile were fangs, so malevolent did Holmes suddenly seem to me in his torment of a man he professed to 'rather like.'

"Well if that is all that is going on we really must go, thank you for your time Lestrade. Watson!" Holmes stormed out the room, his coat flapping behind him and me close on his heels. Lestrade was sitting perfectly still staring out of the window as we left. I was worried by the look I saw come into his eyes as I shut the door. When we returned to our waiting cab Holmes was laughing heartily.

"Oh dear poor Lestrade!" he said when he could finally speak again.

"Yes poor Lestrade, honestly Holmes your treatment of people is sometimes too severe, and towards a man you claimed to like!" I have to say I was astonished at Holmes, never before had I seen him behave in such a fashion and I was appalled. Holmes finally took the ridiculous grin from his face and spoke to me.

"I am sorry Watson but I needed to gauge his reaction and it was perfect, he is terrified!"

"Yes and don't you think we should find out why before you deliver him into the hands of that woman!"

Holmes' face took on its usual impassive façade, all amusement forgotten.

"I have no intention of delivering him into the hands of anyone Watson but it is better he knows of the woman, forewarned is forearmed after all."

"So what do we do now?"

Holmes leaned back in his seat, his eyes as hard as steel.

"Now we go for Miss. Vasiliev."

"Go for?"

Holmes smiled but placed a finger to his lips. I was to hear no more until after our eventful interview with the beautiful and mysterious Russian that I could not help feeling held the key to this macabre mystery.


	9. A Very Serious Development

**Chapter Eight. A Very Serious Development.**

Maria Vasiliev or Virginia Cherub as her stage name proclaimed, seemed to grow more beautiful every time we saw her. As we entered the circus tent once more we found her practising with her brother. She was lithe and slender, her tight costume betraying as much and had the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen. She did not smile when she saw us but approached us with caution, almost using her brother's large body as a shield.

"Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson." Gregory nodded to us, "We have already had police here this morning, we know nothing of these murders, we come only to work please leave us."

Holmes smiled,

"I do understand Mr. Vasiliev but you must see that a man is facing a trial for their murders, a man I believe had nothing to do with them and was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time." Holmes glanced toward Maria who avoided his eyes. Gregory looked between them both.

"I understand Mr. Holmes but there is nothing we can tell you we only arrived here three days ago."

"Is that so?" Holmes said, his eyes still fixed on Maria.

"Miss Vasiliev I wonder if I could speak to you alone."

"No," Gregory placed his large body between himself and his sister, "Too many men want to speak to Maria alone, police Russian or English all the same, no more!"

He almost shouted directly in Holmes' face but he did not flinch.

"Mm." Holmes muttered, "Any particular police this morning?"

"No more!" Gregory shouted again. Holmes held his hands up in defeat.

"Very well Mr. Vasiliev we will leave you and your sister to your practice." He turned to go, "However, should either of you feel you need any assistance please do not hesitate to contact me."

This last comment was directed at Maria; Holmes leaned in toward her as far as he dared without angering her brother. She merely stared at him, saying nothing. Holmes smiled, tipped his heat in her direction, span on his heel and left. I followed.

"Well?" I asked, when we were out of earshot.

"Well what?" Holmes asked, annoyingly dense.

"You know something Holmes, something is going on here and you know what." Holmes paused and turned to face me, he opened his mouth to speak but before he could we were interrupted by the sound of running feet. Holmes raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"Miss. Vasiliev." He said, bowing again. The girl seemed agitated and grasped Holmes' hand, almost pulling him away from where we had just came.

"Mr Holmes," She gasped, "Inspector Lestrade, you must find him."

I was shocked but Holmes seemed clam, almost as if he had expected the name.

"Is it Mrs. Van Carson?" He asked, the girl nodded.

"She is…she is…Oh Mr. Holmes you must find him, you must get him away."

We heard Gregory's voice shout for his sister and Maria turned and ran without another word. Holmes leaned on his cane and watched her go. I was completely at a loss. Lestrade? He had been acting erratic and we knew of his association and obvious discomfort with Mrs. Van Carson but how would Maria know of it? Why should she know of it?

"Holmes.." I began but he held his hand up and walked away from me, again I followed. I reflect that in my life I seemed to follow Holmes in disbelief more than anything else, it is a humbling realisation.

"Where are we going? How does…?" Again he interrupted me.

"Watson! I cannot build bricks without clay! Please desist. We are going to Lestrade, I have had enough of guesswork."

So in silence we made our way to the Yard, upon arrival we found chaos. There were constables everywhere, in amidst the hubbub Holmes managed to pin one down. Upon asking for Inspector Lestrade, we were presented with the most shocking news by a young uniformed officer who was shaking in visible distress.

"Inspector Lestrade is dead sir. Murdered, not twenty minutes ago."


	10. Hiding

**Chapter ****Nine. Hiding**

"Murdered?" Holmes almost smiled at the man.

"Yes sir." The poor constable was visibly distressed and was constantly pulling at his collar.

"Here sit down for goodness sake." I pushed the young officer into a chair. I put a hand on Holmes' arm and whispered in his ear. "Murdered?"

Holmes smiled again.

"Hardly old boy." He turned to wink at me and patted my hand, "come we must not become involved in this."

"Involved in what?"

Holmes ignored me and we left the young constable spluttering and wheezing as we rather quickly left the yard. Acquiring the first hansom that passed our way we were soon rattling through the streets of London as if pursued by the hounds of hell. Holmes threw himself back in his seat and laughed loudly – a sound seldom heard and one that always shocked.

"Holmes would you mind very much telling me what is going on? You seem rather joyous at our friend's alleged murder."

"Ah, _alleged_ my dear fellow being the operative word, our friend has no more been murdered than you or I!"

"Then what…?" I trailed off as Holmes silenced me with a wave of the hand and the cab came to a stand still. Holmes motioned for me to follow, paid the cabby and we stood staring up at a rather forlorn looking abode in the East End.

"Holmes…" I started again, only to be silenced again. I sighed and followed him into the house. The door practically fell off the hinges as Holmes pushed it open and we ascended some worn stairs. Holmes made no secret of the fact we were there, in fact he practically stomped up the stairs.

"Lestrade come out here now!"

My eyes widened in surprise. Lestrade? Again he shouted and clapped his hands as if summoning a dog. From somewhere above us I heard a scampering sound that I may have took for a dog until I saw Holmes smile malevolently.

"Lestrade I do not come to this dire part of London for my health so kindly do not keep me waiting." Holmes leaned against the banister of the upstairs landing, his eyes fixed on a small hole above our heads, I stayed slightly further down and watched, holding my breath. Slowly a figure emerged, first legs, then a body, then…Lestrade. Alive and well. I gasped. The man looked a shadow of himself, rough and dirty, he cowered in a corner as Holmes towered over him.

"Murdered Lestrade? What a very wise course of action" Holmes said folding his arms. His superiority almost glowing.

"I couldn't think of what to do."

"Evidently, so you got one of your many contacts to help you construct your own death – rather convincingly I must admit – unless you're me of course." Holmes smiled and flicked some dirt from the sleeve of his jacket – I couldn't move.

"Then how did you know?"

Holmes sighed.

"My dear Lestrade, when one is framing one's death one does not hire the services of the most conceited criminal in all of London. Jack Banes is many things but modest is not one of them, he does like to boast and helping a prominent Scotland Yard detective fake his own death causes quite a bit of gossip in the underworld, and I have my own contacts that keep me informed."

Holmes never ceased to amaze me. Lestrade looked almost sheepish. Holmes laughed gently and put an arm around the detectives shoulder.

"Come Lestrade, let us continue this conversation in more comfortable surroundings."

Lestrade looked appalled and shrank once more against the wall.

"I...I can't Mr Holmes, what if someone sees me? How will I ever explain this?"

It was clear the man was not thinking straight – how did he _ever_ think he would explain it? Holmes smiled.

"My dear Lestrade, the state you're in at the moment I doubt your own mother would recognise you. Come along."

He gently led the whimpering policeman past my stunned self and into our waiting carriage. He said nothing on the drive back to Baker Street, but his eyes darted everywhere. Whatever had happened, Lestrade's mind had been seriously affected. We pulled up to our door and Lestrade practically ran into our rooms. Holmes raised an eyebrow at me briefly before following. Mrs. Hudson had appeared in the hallway, a concerned look on her face and a tea towel in her hand.

"It's quite alright Mrs. Hudson," I assured her placing a hand on her arm, "We are dealing with a friend."

"Very good sir." She glanced quickly up the stairs before returning to her kitchen.

I sighed and followed Holmes to our rooms. Lestrade had seated himself in my chair by the fire and was constantly wringing his hands. Holmes sat opposite him and pulled his chair in close.

"Lestrade." Holmes' voice was firm but Lestrade said nothing, his hands twirling faster as his irritation grew. Holmes took Lestrade's hands in his own.

"Gene."

It was seldom that Holmes used anyone's Christian name and Lestrade responded, he immediately looked into Holmes' eyes.

"How did this happen Gene?"

Holmes placed one hand on Lestrade's shoulder and slowly Lestrade raised his head.

"I love her."

"Her?" I asked but Holmes silenced me with a glare, Lestrade appeared not to have heard me.

"Maria?" Holmes pressed gently. Lestrade nodded and buried his head in his hands. Holmes sighed.

"I thought as much and her brother does not approve?"

Lestrade shook his head.

"He was furious, I have never seen a man so angry, he swore to kill me."

"You are a married man Gene." Holmes said, standing. Lestrade nodded.

"I know, I know!" He almost wailed.

"Do you have any idea what faking your own death will have done to your wife? To Maria? To all the officers at the yard? Men that look up to you Gene." Holmes' voice remained calm but I could see how tense he was. Ironic, I thought, for a man who had done precisely that not three years ago without a thought as to how it might affect those around him. Lestrade whimpered again.

"And all for a girl young enough to be your daughter? Really, Lestrade."

"It was that woman that made it so sordid. It never was, not really. I admired Maria, I sent her flowers that was all it ever was until she got wind of it."

Holmes glanced at me briefly.

"Who?"

"That bitch Van Carson."

Holmes whistled.

"Yes, she is rather formidable."

"She nursed my mother when she was dying, that's how I know her, she was good to my mum but she tormented me for her own amusement! She goes round like some saintly goddess but she's from the very devil Mr. Holmes! She found out about my…admiration for Maria and she twisted it. I knew Maria before she joined the damn circus. Greg, her brother, got done for arson a while back, some old warehouse, went down for it. When he got out I was the officer in charge and Maria came to meet him, we got talking, I found out what she did and that was that, I was in love."

Holmes raised his eyebrows again but let Lestrade talk.

"Well it never went anywhere, it was alright just to look at her see, I never she knew she was involved with Van Carson until she joined that blasted circus, then all hell broke loose!"

He wailed again and fresh tears poured down his face.

"Yessss…" Holmes drew out the word as he lit his pipe, "Well there's nothing we can do today. I fear pandemonium has already broken out at the yard and our introducing you back into society will not do anyone any good today. No, you must stay here tonight, tomorrow we will work out what to do."

Lestrade nodded.

"I'll give you something to help you sleep Lestrade."

Lestrade nodded at me,

"Thank you doctor, thank you both. Such a mess..." He paused again and looked at his hands, in a voice that was barely audible he said, "What about Mrs Van Carson?"

"You leave her to me." Holmes gripped Lestrade's shoulder, "Falling in love is not a crime Gene, even if you are already married - remember that."

Lestrade nodded but did not smile. Holmes motioned me to follow him on to the landing.

"Look after him Watson. Admiration for a girl is harmless I have known Lestrade long enough he would never have acted on it. I'm going pay our Mrs Van Carson a visit, she has more to do with this whole business than meets the eye."

"Very well Holmes, what about the girl?"

Holmes shrugged as he put on his coat and hat.

"What about her? She is a beautiful girl who is admired by men, that is not her fault. It's her brother I have an issue with, the girl is…well if the world were full of unattractive girls I may very well be out of a job!"

With that he flew down the stairs and into the street. I went back to Lestrade who was sobbing quietly, I gave him a sedative and he slept in Holmes' room well into the night. It was only when I was awoken by the sound of screaming that I was aware that Holmes had not returned…

_I PROMISE I'll update my stories more often! I'm very naughty…I hope you are still reading this and as ever reviews are more than appreciated! Thank you! _


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